


Loving That Bass-line

by EthanolRabbit



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), F/M, Mild Smut, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, Oneshot, Possessive Sans, Reader Is Not Frisk, Short One Shot, fangs, sans x reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EthanolRabbit/pseuds/EthanolRabbit
Summary: You've had eyes on you all night - but there is one pair in particular that burn brighter than the others. (Oneshot, a little smut)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta get these frustrations out somewhere, right? ;)

The music beats hard – air is smoky, tinted pink and blue – lights flash and fade – bass thrumming so hard that your knees feel weak – it’s hot and heavy.

You’re moving freely, swaying to the beat and you can feel a lot of eyes on you – jealous ones; happy ones; curious ones… Hungry ones. But you keep carefree, twirling about the floor amongst monsters and humans alike, rising and falling with the music saturating the air; you’re a neon firefly, UV bangles and glowsticks your décor of choice, flitting around in the smoky dark.

Those hungry eyes are nothing compared to the single blue one watching you – a piercing lazy flame. Sans’ attention has been trained on you for the better part of the night, a casual smile that flickers into the occasional enamored smirk as he watches you dance, alabaster fingers wrapped around a frosted glass of straight dark rum. He’s patient; enjoying the show.

Enjoying you.

You break away from the floor for the first time in an hour and stride up to the bar – you have only had a few drinks, savouring the evening as you always do. The club lights frame you in a crisp silhouette as you pass your admirer, unaware of his sweeping gaze across your skin, laced with a palpable sheen from your exploits.

A slick tongue traces pointed fangs and the monster’s throat resonates in a quiet growl.

It’s bustling at the bar and you take a moment to cool your forearms on the black slab counter top. The barwoman spots you and leans over to hear your request. She pours you a shot – a sweet sour blueberry liquor – and you knock it back, thanking her with a beaming smile while sliding some money to her. You whirl around, ready to skip back to the dancefloor – the bass intensifying as another song starts to build-up and you want to make sure you’re there for the drop.

“Is that all you’re havin’?”

You’re already scoffing before you look at him – guys were literally pouring over you whenever you went out and your patience with them ran thin a long time ago “Listen, buddy-“

…

You haven’t had a monster approach you before, not at a club.

“I’m all ears.” Sans is wearing his cheekiest grin, fangs just visible, and his eyes were dark. He winks at you.

You fold your arms and raise an eyebrow at him “Yeah, that’s all I’m having.” You answer, unwilling to give him any more than that.

The skeleton rolls his shoulders in a shrug and takes a sip of his drink, speaking coolly “Figured most people needed a lotta liquid courage to go up there and bust moves like you do.”

A compliment you haven’t had before – and it didn’t seem sleazy neither.

Your interest is piqued.

Sans gestures from you to the floor “’ey, don’t let me stop your fun.”

You give him a big sultry smile and slink away – you missed the beat drop but this new kind of attention has you intrigued; usually after sharing two words with a guy at a club you felt like going home and scrubbing yourself raw.

Throughout the rest of the night (now early morning) you keep an eye out for that skeleton but you don’t see him again. You leave the club a little forlorn.

*******

Weaving expertly from under his arms, you flip the greasy creep a pointed middle-finger and slip away into the thrum of the night crowd – greaseball had tried twice already to get you alone so he could try wooing you: not a chance.

There’s only one monster you wouldn’t mind bumping into tonight.

You dance here and there but hang back at the bar a little more this night – the music is thick, the drops are bone-shattering but your mind is a little distracted

And your heart flits as you lock eyes with him.

Sans approaches you as if out of the darkness, his presence is heavy – how did you not notice before? His black hooded jacket is undone and his shirt hangs loosely about his body – your curious eyes notice the slightly drooping hem of his jeans and you catch a glimpse of stark white hipbone.

You struggle to keep your composure.

“Heya…” his voice is a drawling baritone, lazily and slow “Waiting around for someone?”

“No not really.” You keep your voice level and lean against the counter “You don’t seem like the typical clientele for this sort of place.” You waste no time in attempting the upper hand in the conversation – keep aloof and you keep control.

Sans ignores you and orders you a blueberry shot and a straight rum on the rocks for himself “Never caught your name last time.”

You take the shot from him before he’s finished speaking and down it “I know.”

With that you’re already disappearing into the crowd – this little game of cat and mouse will be fun if he plays along.

You feel your mischief crawling on your back as his eyes pursue you.

********

You’re taking a breather off to the side, the room doused in a mystic deep blue – hot and heavy. Your chest is almost heaving as you catch your breath in the thick atmosphere, you push your hair back into a ponytail when you can’t stand it sticking to you anymore, and you rest your head against the wall.

Your eyes close and the pulsing beat tingles down your neck and into your chest.

Sans is on you.

His eyes are a few inches from yours and his palms on the wall either side of your shocked face. Your eyes follow his widening smirk, almost mesmerised – you only look away when your throat catches at the sight of one of his pointed teeth.

“My name is Sans,” his voice purrs, his eyes lazy “Nice to meet you.”

That rumbling baritone up close sends a prickling flush across your skin.

You clear your throat and say your name and nothing else – you have no proper thoughts right now.

Sans’ smirk reveals his full toothy glory and his eyes roam over your body for a second before he steps back from you – the charged air between you dissipating with him.

“Want another drink?” he’s calm, nonchalant.

You didn’t like being played with.

“No thanks.” You want to skulk away, head held high – but the charged static you felt, the hot, heavy presence Sans covered you with: it felt like you _needed_ it.

“Suit yourself.” Sans shrugs.

…

The bassline flares and you two are in one space – he’s on you again, pressing into you this time as your back is flush against the wall, one of his hands takes purchase on your hip and you gasp as you hear (and _feel_ ) him growl.

Your skin tingles from the pressure of his body, you feel the air around you buzz to life, an intoxicating mix of magic, alcohol and Sans’ spice-laden scent makes you feel giddy.

There is the sudden feeling of a dangerous pinpoint pressure on your neck – your breath hitches and your hands fumble to grasp at him – the seemingly laidback nonchalant skeleton now reflects his species’ namesake: a hungry impatient monster.

Sans flicks your tender neck with his tongue and you feel him grin against your skin when you audibly shiver.

Your hand finds purchase in his jacket’s hood and you tug him away so your eyes are level – his face is unapologetic, mouth twisted in animalistic glee, and his eyes pierce through you like dark probing daggers.

Your body melts into him and your arms betray you – pulling him in. Your teeth clink against his as you start to hungrily kiss with panting open mouths, Sans waiting a split second before letting his tongue flick at your bottom lip. You stifle a moan and tug on the hem of his jeans, bringing his lower half flush against you and the wall.

“Stuck between a rock and a hard place.” He chuckles against your lips, his deep voice throaty with lust, the sound resonating in your very bones.

_Which one is the rock…?_

You bite your lip and buck your hips upwards – they ache from dancing but you keep your fluid motions expert nevertheless and you are rewarded with a momentary lapse in the monster’s cheeky expression: his brow quirks upwards a little and his smirk crinkles.

“Don’t get cocky…” you whisper against the side of his face, moving your hips upwards again.

Sans’ hand tightens on your hip and you feel him release a shuddering exhale and after a moment he starts to match your motions – the music thrumming through you both, the beat acting as a pulsing metronome for you to match.

You close your eyes and bite down on your tongue, molten heat building between you after just this little bit of fun – good old chemistry or magic: you are unsure…

            Nevertheless, the idea of finding out fills you with determination.

           


End file.
